So.
Here we are again.
I just can't help it.
I promised that I wouldn't write any more nasty articles questioning the intelligence or motivations of the Toronto Blue Jays.
I also promised to up the dose of my medication so that I'd stop thinking that MLB was conspiring to get rid of the Blue Jays, a la Montreal Expos.
That's all done.
After a season filled with uncertainties, egos and mismanagement from the top to the bottom of the franchise, the Blue Jays looked like they were on the way back to sanity; Ricciardi out, Beeston retained as President & CEO, young Alex Anthopoulos installed in the driver's seat, and it looked as though Cito Gaston (after managing to annoy half the clubhouse) was on the way out.
"Thank God," was the consensus. We really didn't want to remember Cito like this; hanging on, grasping at that "last season in the sun," to paraphrase both Crash Davis and Jake Taylor. ("Who?" Look 'em up, rookie.)
Cito had managed to alienate, in no particular order (and this isn't all of 'em by ANY means) Roy Halladay, Vernon Wells, Alex Rios, Scott Rolen, Brad Arnsberg, Aaron Hill. You get it - the core of "his" club.
(Some lay the blame for the Rios situation directly at Gaston's feet, saying that Cito stressed Alex out to the point where he was left with no confidence in his natural abilities, which, as we all know, are temendous. "Millon-dollar arm, five-cent head" was how Crash might have summed him up. And, that disaster started - and ended - on Gaston's watch.)
So, as a result, we will now be left with no real right fielder, a still-slumping Wells, a perpetually stressed-out Halladay, Bruce Walton as pitching coach (no offense, Bruce) and a roster that has little to no confidence in the man who's supposed to have a clue where we're all going.
I really thought that the Jays would be smart enough to look in-house for the solution, that we'd be checking the bio of new manager Sal Butera as we speak now.
Instead, we get reruns of Gaston.
I'm not annoyed because Cito's back behind the bench. I like Cito, bordering (as far as a male sports fan can admit) on "love" - but, this is not how I want to remember Cito: a grumpy old curmudgeon who can't relate.
I want to remember him as the father of our World Series team, an extra daddy to us all for a couple of years - even if we never met the man - wisely handling his veterans, putting the rookies (gently but firmly) in their place.
I'm annoyed because, by his own admission, Cito's only here until the end of the year.
What? Way to hang the "lame duck" tag on yourself, Cito. You're delusional if you think anyone is going to listen to you now.
Letting people know that he's done as a manager now would be like Obama telling us, right this instant, that he's not going to run for re-election.
Nobody would bother lifting a finger to help his proposed legislation. His political capital would evaporate in an instant. He'd be finished before he wrapped up his speech.
There's less at stake (arguable, for a Jays fan) here: It's "just" baseball, right? Well, it's enough to make me despair. I can just see how far Cito's clout will carry this year.
It won't.
Come on, Cito, walk away. Please?
No?
OK, then.
I'll just up the dose again, and ignore the team this year.
I'll show up with Ella, AJ & my long-suffering wife Rita. I'll hang out with Drew, Traci, Mike, Lori & the rest of the "occasionals" in Section 523.
I'll yell when Maureen prompts us to "HIT, HIT, HIT!!!"
I'll hope, secretly, in a corner of my mind, that the miracles (that occasionally seem to bless a hard-working baseball team) will blossom; that the stars & planets will align and we'll throw a scare into the Yankees & Red Sox; that we'll taste a winner one more time before Cito rolls back into the sunset.
However, each time he ambles out to the mound or trots out to remonstrate with a wayward umpire, I'll be off to the bathroom or the lines at the concession stands, so I can remember Cito how he should be remembered.
After all, thinking "Thank God he's gone at the end of the year," is not a worthy or fitting epitaph for a man like Cito Gaston, baseball father to us all.
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